


Moment

by NavisActuaria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NavisActuaria/pseuds/NavisActuaria
Summary: It’s the simple quiet moments that are the real reason. They fight and bleed and die and live and in between there are those quiet moments where the sky is wide. When the music is loud and Sam’s smile dimples up, when there’s beer cooling in the backseat and the road is clear and dusty dry for miles.





	

It’s the simple quiet moments that are the real reason. They fight and bleed and die and live and in between there are those quiet moments where the sky is wide. When the music is loud and Sam’s smile dimples up, when there’s beer cooling in the backseat and the road is clear and dusty dry for miles. Dean lives for those moments, always has.

When Sam was reaching for that other life, that bigger life of meaning away from the grit and gore of hunting, Dean wondered if he ought to want that, too. If maybe something (else) was wrong in him for not longing for better, for more than a clean hunt and the open road and his brother in the passenger seat.  
Then Sam grew into broken-and-fixed Sam, lived through the worst days and learned that the other life wasn’t his to have. Now, they stop for tacos and walk down piers because (like it or not) that’s what makes their lives bearable.

And now they have a home of sorts, and Dean’s never been safe as houses, never had the chance to find out that road trips are sweeter with a warm bed at the end. Never quite slept as deep, always listening for the creak of the motel room door or the whisper of a salt line slipping away, listening for Sam’s breathing in the dark. Now, the moments of easy quiet are simpler to find. Burgers and crispy fries and the hum of Zeppelin in the back of his throat are all richer when his fingertips aren’t twitching for his gun at every sound. And Cas comes by too, with his quiet gravity and his careful eyes, and Dean won’t lie and say he doesn’t sleep better when he knows Cas is in the bunker.

Hell, maybe Dean’s just getting old and soft, but those good simple moments seem more important now, like maybe he has more to lose. Next time he gets in a scrap with a few vamps in a nest in Baton Rouge he hangs back, lures them out and then takes them out easy and clean, one by one. A few years back he would have gone in with a swinging machete and a cocky grin, and Dean knows it.

It kind of freaks him out when he notices, and he heads straight to his usual dive bar in Lawrence, spends the night on tequila shots and lime, hustling pool and shooting darts until he meets a sweet little thing, all curves and brown eyes. He’s got her pressed up against the leather of a smoky booth in the corner, hands all in her hair, when the jukebox clicks over and he’s back in the Impala trying to explain to Cas that yes, Bon Jovi knows that prayers are not sufficient sustenance for humans, no, you do not need to inform him of the fact, Cas….and then he’s stammering apologies and scratching out his number on a napkin, leaving the girl confused and disheveled in the back of a shitty Kansas bar.

He never mentions it to Sam or Cas, just finds a hunt quick, and they all pile into the Impala and question witnesses and scan for EMF, until it’s just them, an open grave, and licking flame. The three of them get back to the bunker at four in the morning, and Sam is clingy tired, burying his head in Dean’s shoulder on the tail end of the adrenaline crash. Dean is wide awake, taking in the home-smell of Sam’s hair and the grease of the bunker’s garage, the electric of Cas’s eyes in the half-dark. He pours Sam into bed and doesn’t sleep for hours.

Two months later, and they’re on a hunt all the way up near Boston, snow blanketing the Impala overnight in the motel parking lot. Dean takes the first opportunity to shove a handful of snow into Sam’s fluffy girl hair, relishes his shriek. The hunt goes bloody and gritty halfway through, and that night when it’s all over Dean and Sam hunker down in the motel room for hot showers and doses of liquid comfort. Dean’s lying on the bed, listening to Sam’s fingers tapping at the laptop keys and drifting. There’s a wind outside shrieking fit to tear shingles off the roof, and Dean thinks of a barn covered in sigils, wind and lightening, shadows of wings and _good things do happen, Dean._

He wakes in the dim dawn light and knows Cas is there before he opens his eyes. And for a moment, one single soft moment, the hazy, confused dreams of the night exist in the same space as Cas. Dreams of feathers and lightening and a howling love, burning cold like blue fire, all seem to still be brushing across Dean’s skin.

Dean opens his eyes. And then it’s so easy, to close the distance, stand facing Cas in the dimness of the room, Sam’s sleeping breaths at his back. So easy to hold years of fighting and hurting and I need you in a look. So easy to slide both hands into black hair and taste Cas’ mouth.

It shocks through Dean, when he realizes Cas is holding onto his forearms with both hands, when he feels Cas kiss him back. And then it’s over, distance between lips, and they are quiet and breathless, dust motes swirling around them and the _plink_ of the drip tap in the bathroom.

That was the first of a hundred, a thousand quiet moments. They kiss in sticky corner booths in country diners while Sam is in the bathroom. They brush shoulders making breakfast in the bunker, blueberry pancakes and syrup. Dean stops taking Cas with him on stakeouts after the time they got distracted and a vamp nearly took out a gas station clerk. Sam figures it out lightning-quick, always too smart for his own good, and Dean has to put up with Sam’s giant girly grins and wiggly eyebrows for weeks.

Nothing changes, and everything’s different.


End file.
